


A Respite

by acrononymous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Magical Accidents, Mild Gore, On Hiatus, POV Multiple, Pining, Romance, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Sweet, Whump, Work In Progress, mild cameos, snippets of inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 17,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26672779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrononymous/pseuds/acrononymous
Summary: Chapter one was rewritten and re-uploaded. Chapters are set up to be little vignettes written from different POVs. I'll try to keep them short and ramble-free. This fic will span the length of inquisition, with time skips in between each one. This is all set around a Solavellan romance.It's a slow burn, but all tensions get resolved. Smut chapters will be marked.Dhea's magical abilities are canon divergent, but inspired by Asunder. Other creative license was taken, but nothing too outside of canon.Thanks for reading, and have a lovely day!(Or night!)
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan & Solas, Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 13





	1. Dhea Lavellan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one was rewritten and re-uploaded. Chapters are set up to be little vignettes written from different POVs. I'll try to keep them short and ramble-free. This fic will span the length of inquisition, with time skips in between each one. This is all set around a Solavellan romance.
> 
> It's a slow burn, but all tensions get resolved. Smut chapters will be marked. 
> 
> Dhea's magical abilities are canon divergent, but inspired by Asunder. Other creative license was taken, but nothing too outside of canon. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and have a lovely day!  
> (Or night!)

POV: Lavellan

A Respite

Dhea was trapped in that moment just before you wake up. That moment when you’re frozen but your mind races like some unforeseen force swinging a pendulum in your head and all you could do is wait until the momentum wanes. So, she waited and darkness consumed her.

The chanting always came first. Dissonant whispers surrounded her in the abyss. “Herald save us. Help us. Blessed one. Chosen one.” The voices slid against her as creatures in murky water; slimy and unknown. Then came the teeth. Little needle gnashes ripped into her, chewing the flesh from her blessed bones. “Bless us. Save us. Close the breach. Chosen of Andraste.” The whispers stung more than the tears on her face. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. She yelled until it ripped apart her throat and all that remained was her heart. It beat in the darkness, but not for her. 

She awoke with a gasp. She swallowed the frigid mountain air until it burned in her lungs. As, the numbness receded and she felt her limbs get lighter. Her body came back to her. Little pains returned to her, reassuring her that this was real. She sat up, bones cracking with the effort. 

“You are here. You are safe,” a voice echoed from the corner of the room. “It wasn’t real,” the voice was closer. She blinked and a drooping hat emerged at the foot of her bed. Dhea sighed. 

“Cole.” She said to herself. She did not ask how he got in, or how long he has been there. She’d had enough frights for this morning.

“Sorry,” he breathed.

She dipped her chin and peeked under the hat. She smiled at the boy’s ghostly eyes. “Good morning,” she said, “there is nothing to be sorry about, Cole. You were trying to help.” Even though you can’t, she wanted to say, but didn’t. 

He tilted his head, eyes fixed at something past her. “Reaching, ripping, ranting. It scared you. But,” he blinked as his eyes focused on hers, “but you wouldn’t let me in. I tried to help. Blocking, walls all around, closing, bowed but never broken.” His words tumbled out of him, “too bright and strong. It hurts to look, but I want to help. Why won’t you let me in?” He frowned.

She sighed and threw the covers off. “People usually buy me dinner first before asking that,” she said. He tilted his head again.

“But it’s breakfast time?” His brows knitted in confusion.

She snickered and strapped her great sword to her back. “It is.” She rolled her stiff shoulder and neck. The morning chill crept into the soles of her feet keeping her weariness at bay. She padded to the door.

“You see me. As Solas does. Seeing the soul. You numb yourself just as he does.” The spirit-boy’s words made her head spin with their fluidity. 

“After breakfast, Cole,” she sighed, “It’s too early for existentialism and picking around my head.” The door creaked open into the sleeping bowels of the Chantry. She blinked at the bald apostate waiting at her door. His hand was poised to knock.

“Good morning, Herald. Cole.” Solas tipped his chin towards the spirit and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Concern, anxious, must check,” Cole whispered. Lavellan’s eyes flicked from the boy to Solas. She arched a brow at him. It was far too early for all of this. 

Solas cleared his throat. “Cole, please.” The tips of his ears turned pink and he glanced at the Herald.

“Sorry,” Cole muttered. 

“Can I… help you?” She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and hid a smile. An embarrassed Solas was very endearing, and rare. 

“He felt you in the fade,” Cole whispered. His shoulders slumped as Solas pinned him with a warning glare. 

“Can I… help you?” She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and hid a smile. An embarrassed Solas was very endearing and rare.

“He felt you in the fade,” Cole whispered. His shoulders slumped as Solas pinned him with a warning glare.

“Cole,” Solas groused.

“Sorry,” Cole muttered again. 

“Well, aren’t we a delightful group this morning!” She chuckled as she began walking towards breakfast. Solas fell into step beside her.

“Are you well, Herald?” He tested.

She sighed and checked a fresh bruise on her bicep. “Physically? Emotionally? Spiritually? You’ve got to narrow it down, Solas.”

Solas huffed out a frustrated breath. Dhea grinned. She shouldn’t tease him like this, she knew, no matter how enjoyable it was. She stopped and looked at him. “It was just an unpleasant dream. That is all. It wasn’t the first, and won’t be the last,” she said evenly.

He scoffed at the simplicity of her answer. “A pebble in your shoe is unpleasant. What you had was entirely different.”

“It’s fortunate for us we don’t wear shoes,” she countered and continued walking towards the tavern.

“Stop dancing, Herald. Did you even realize what you conjured? Do you-“ he paused, “your dream was strong enough to create a disturbance in the fade. Cole and I felt your presence. You-“ he took another calming breath and measured how much he should say. “As this world understands it, only mages can shape the fade to such an extent when dreaming.” He glanced at her great sword before continuing. “You are no mage,” he accused.

She felt an invisible force press into her, like ice forming on a lake. She focused on the sensation and pushed it away. She saw Solas wince in response. The force brushed against her again. She stopped walking and turned to him. She didn’t know how she did it the first time, but she tried again with all her might. Solas winced and stepped back from her as if she burned him. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it and snapped it shut. He simply stared at her incredulously. She crossed her arms at him and waited for him to speak.

They were so distracted with each other they did not notice the main doors open. Slivers of pink and lavender bled into the darkened hall and an Antivan wrapped in golden silks and weariness slipped inside with her nose planted in her clipboard. She bumped into Lavellan’s back, startling everyone.

“Goodness, my apologies. Oh, good morning, Lady Lavellan! I was heading to the War Room. Would you care to join me?” Josephine read the tension in the room and diffused it. “Ah, good morning, Master Solas. Have you eaten? I saw the cook bring out a fresh loaf of bread. It was-oh!” Cole appeared suddenly, making her drop her clipboard.

“Hello. Sorry,” he muttered as he caught it and handed it to her. Josephine bowed politely as she took it from him. Lavellan smiled at the Antivan Ambassador apologetically.

“Cole is trying not to shock people when he appears. He really is getting better.” Lavellan smiled at the boy warmly and adjusted his hat. She nodded in approval and tucked her hand around Josephine’s elbow. “Come, then. We shouldn’t keep the Commander waiting, Lady Montiliyet.” She sighed airily. “Though his little scowl of admonishment is rather delightful, isn’t it?” She smirked as Josephine hid a laugh behind her hand. A bubble of companionship formed around the women as they were swallowed into the belly of the Cathedral.


	2. Candlelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face  
> And stars fill my dream  
> I'm a traveler of both time and space  
> To be where I have been  
> To sit with elders of the gentle race  
> This world has seldom seen  
> They talk of days for which they sit and wait  
> All will be revealed - Kashmir, Led Zeppelin

Candlelight.

The candle stub hunched over the censer, casually giving away parts of itself for knowledge like an old teacher. Dhea was wrapped in the gentle glow, her limbs twisted into themselves on the chair as she bent over a book. To an outsider, she seemed a part of the furniture. Some long-forgotten bronze statue formed by novice hands and left unfinished. Like they’d given up at her curls and left them in little tufts on her head. The only movement seen was the voracious sweeping of her eyes as she cleaned the bones off the page. She was starving; you see. Desperate for nourishment.

The flame flickered as she turned the page. A shadow passed in the bubble of light that encased her.

Solas did not think anyone else used the forgotten library deep in the bowels of the cathedral. It was an odd place to keep a study, though he supposes even jailers needed their privacy. He stood in the doorway and observed her for a forbidden moment. He smiled in the darkness. She was twisted over a book again and seeking privacy, he supposed. He sighed and turned away in search of another empty room.

A movement in the shadows beyond the candlelight caught her eye. Lavellan looked up from her book. She blinked owlishly as academics do when finding a tendril of thought just beyond their reach.

“Oh, hello,” she said.

Solas froze before returning a hesitant, “hello.”

Silence hung in the air as the moments after a thunderclap. Neither knowing where or when to strike.

“It is late, Herald,” he tested.

“Or early, one could say.”

“Yes, as one could say.” He nodded his head at the doorway, an unspoken “may I come in?” hung in the air.

She nodded in response. He folded his hands behind his back as he crossed the threshold.

Silence stretched between them. Words stumbled from her when it became unbearable. “Did you know the chantry scholar Brother Genitivi was held here by cultists? I found a journal here filled with field notes, and another one with academic commentary! I think he was preparing a manuscript on the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Her fingers brushed the pages with reverence.

Solas couldn’t help but smile at her academic delight. “Yes, I had heard,” he mumbled. Her earnestness was endearing.

She chuckled and swept her hand in the air towards the bookshelf. “Cultists!” She shook her head. “Do you think the shelves stacked with romance serials belonged to them, or some chantry sister?”

He huffed out a laugh, despite himself. “Possibly both.” He sat down in the empty chair next to the desk. He scanned the stack of books on the desk before her with an amused smirk.

“Wonders never cease,” she said airily. She arched a brow as she followed his line of sight.

“I see you did not share their interest, however.” He crossed his hands in his lap and waited for a response.

“Not tonight, no,” she returned. She wondered how long this dance of theirs will be if neither of them wanted to lead.

“Tonight, you are interested in…” He leaned across the desk. “Spirits and Demons: A study of the Fade.” He arched a brow in surprise. It was probably full of inaccuracies, he thought. That she was interest in it, however, was very intriguing. “Tell me Herald, is it your habit to delight in obscure manuscripts? Or were you trying to put yourself to sleep?” He smiled, softening his jest. “If you are that desperate, I can ask Mother Giselle to recite the Canticle of Light for you.”

She sat up straighter and preened. “I’ll have you know that obscure books are quite delightful. And yes. I do like a bit of light reading before bed. Tell me, Fadewalker, are you planning on making a habit out of teasing me?”

An amused laugh bubbled in his chest. “It is rather easy, I’ll admit,” and enjoyable, he thought.

She sank a bit in her chair. “Yes, so says The Iron Bull, Sera, and Varric, and even Cullen.” She pouted slightly. Solas smiled, amused at the cuteness of it. “Though Varric is the only one brave enough to tease the Seeker.”

“Yes. I suspect it is because he is used to evading fists,” he observed.

“And the truth,” she tacked on.

They smiled at each other, encased in the gentle warmth of the candle. All hesitancy had faded away as they settled into the simple rhythm of their verbal dance. Though still strangers, there was an easiness that settled between them in conversations. It was a welcomed surprise to them both.

 _Drip, drip_. The candle flickered as they held each other’s gaze for a long moment before Solas remembered himself and cleared his throat. “I apologize for intruding, Herald. I’ll let you get back to your reading.” He rose from his chair to begin his retreat.

“Good night, Fadewalker.” Her voice breeched the solitude he clung to himself.

He paused in the doorway. “Good night, Herald.” He slipped into the darkness, leaving the gentle respite of the stranger’s candle light.


	3. Names

POV Cole: Names

A name isn’t just a name, Cole has learned. He was ‘Demon,’ and ‘Creepy.’ He was also ‘Kid,’ and ‘Cole,’ and ‘Spirit.’ Varric changed people’s names to match what he sees. Cassandra used names as an accusation, sometimes. She threw ‘Tevinter, Apostate, and Dwarf’ as she did her sword. She also used ‘friend,’ and ‘Commander’. Those words were soft leather and worn spines on a book. Compassion liked Faith. Careful, don’t bother, inching to the hurts Faith kept hidden. _Boundaries Cole_ , she had told him. Voice rough, but careful not to tear. Faith tries to understand. He liked to help her.

_Tap, tap-tap, tap-tap._

His boot that was all buckling and bobs bounced on the stone wall behind the apothecary. He liked it here. A little Haven for the hurts.

_Tap-tap, tap-tap._

Old thread pulling shadows through the cracks. He turned his head to the Old Wolf. His thoughts changed colors when he thought of her. They were turning warmer, frost melting in the Morning. To him, she was ‘Shadow,’ first. Whispers of what was mistakes following him in the light while others were in the dark. Sleeping and keeping, _must keep it hidden._ Now she was ‘Herald.’ A name to keep her the same. He was afraid to look too closely. _She cannot change things_ the Old Wolf had said.

 _Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap._ Cole turned his head towards the Lion walking with the Morning.

“Careful, Herald. Your smugness will alert the Seeker. Then we’ll both perish.”

“Smug? Me?” She blinked at him innocently. “You are mistaken, Commander. Perhaps your bruises are affecting your judgement. Shall I get a healer?” A sharp grin flashed before turning serene.

Cullen smirked at her. “I shall recover, my lady. Until the next time.” He bowed slightly and marched towards his troops. She smiled after him and glanced towards the source of tapping. She skipped towards Cole and leaned against his wall.

“Metal clashing, lungs catching. Muscles burning, smiling against the hurt. You’re happy.” Cole said, turning towards the Herald. She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded.

“Now it’s 3 to 2. I broke the tie, finally.” She beamed at the spirit-boy. His head tilted to the side, his confusion apparent.

“But your tie isn’t broken. It holds your hair.” He blinked at her. Puffs of warmth clung to the air as she laughed, short and clipped. “So, it does, Cole. So, it does.” She hopped on the wall next to him and pulled a book from her pack. “Mind if I stay while you listen?” She asked him.

“Cool, crisp and quiet. You like it here, too.” He said and shifted to make room for her.


	4. Familiar Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face  
> And stars fill my dream  
> I'm a traveler of both time and space  
> To be where I have been  
> To sit with elders of the gentle race  
> This world has seldom seen  
> They talk of days for which they sit and wait  
> All will be revealed"- Kashmir, Led Zeppelin

Solas: Familiar Stranger

The mountain air stretched around the lateness of the hour as a cat on a worn rug. He treaded softly through the woods beyond the frozen lake. The frost clung to his breath, ephemeral puffs lingering around him like wisps of curiosity in the fade. He seeks peace and solitude as he treads in the darkness.

He paused as he saw a light in the distance, tucked between outcroppings of rock. He walked towards it. To investigate, he told himself. He ignored the hope in the back of his mind. The anchor drew him; he told himself, not to a shadow of a lost empire. His pride told him many things.

She was there, wrapped in the candle's glow. Bronze limbs and copper hair sprawled over a blanket in the snow. She had a book in her hands, as she usually did when he found her. Hesitation lingered in his limbs, but curiosity brought them to life.

“Hello,” he said.

There was a soft inhale of breath before her golden stare met his.

“Ah, it’s you,” she said as if waiting for the familiar stranger. There was a soft rustle of linens as she righted herself and made room for him. She watched him expectantly.

As he folded himself on the blanket, he saw a plate of honeyed ginger cakes tucked in the corner. His lip quirked at another revelation of her.

“I did not think anyone else liked them,” he said softly, as if to himself.

“They are wonderful, aren’t they? The cook saves the leftovers for me. I seem to be in her good graces.” Her lip twitched at his surprised reaction.

He hummed. They both knew the ire of the gatekeeper of the Inquisition’s meals was not something to trifle with, and not easily won.

“You are quite skilled.” He added, eyes lingering on the giant blade resting beside the blanket.

“As are you, fade walker.” She threw him one of her coy smiles with mischief tugging at the corners of her eyes. He couldn’t help but return it.

He cleared his throat, warming the words in his chest before using them. He was out of practice, but had used them with her. For research, he told himself.

“Is it a reminder of home?” His gaze searched her for clues. He knew she would not answer plainly.

“Home is where I am, Solas,” she whispered.

So, yes, he read. He leaned closer to her, warmth pulling the corners of his mouth. “I see.”

“What brings you out here so late?” Her eyes searched him for truth. She could not trust her ears.

“I was looking for some peace.” He returned her coy smile with one of his own.

She hummed in response, satisfied with his answer. “Have you found it?”

“For the time being, it seems.” His smile widened, despite himself. She moved the plate between them. Solas couldn’t help but notice her long fingers drape over the plate etched with elegance and scars. Another lovely contradiction to add to his revelations of her. He craved more for research, of course.

“Tell me of your family?” The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. It surprised them both.

She awarded his earnest query with a genuine smile and a slice of truth as she brushed crumbs from her fingers. “We traveled around the Free Marches. We were around Wycome, last season.” She began. “My mother is a craftsman and trader. My middle sister is First to the Keeper. My youngest sister is a hunter.” She stretched her legs languidly, wriggling her toes before she eyed him expectantly. Solas hummed in response as he unpacked more pieces of her.

“And your role in the clan?” He folded his hands in his lap as he edged closer to her. For warmth, he told himself. Genuine delight lifted her features. Solas blinked in surprise. He had not seen that before.

“I did many things.” She tucked her legs toward him, knees almost touching his. Her golden gaze meandered along the slope of his ear and along his brow before settling on the small scar on forehead. She heard Solas take a shaky breath. Her eyes fixed on his before continuing.

“I was a hunter, an artisan, and a spy.” She shrugged. “Such as they are among the Dalish.” She tucked her knees to her chest and waited for his next question.

“Magic runs in your family.” He observed. “Though you do not use yours.” He arched a brow and sent a tendril of mana against her own. He smiled as he felt a flame flick his away as a snap in a whip. She giggled and unfurled herself like a flower for the morning sun.

“Well done, Fade walker. You are correct. My sister has the talent for it where I do not. Observe.” She held her palm out before her, concentration creasing her brow. A small ball of light appeared in the center of her palm, undulating like the embers of a flame before it crackled and hissed. Sparks flew into the air and onto the blanket. She ducked out of the way and Solas patted out a small fire that started at the edge of the blanket.

She laughed and shrugged at him apologetically. “My mother also has difficulty.” She tacked on.

“And your father?” He asked.

She paused longer than she should. Solas noted the immediate change in her, and the pain he saw as she deliberated an answer for him. He had pushed too far; he realized. He had not earned this truth.

What should she say about him? She thought. Should she tell him of the fear that followed his flippant wrath? That his memory turned everything bitter? Laughter became stones in her mouth, pushed out of necessity, lingering vapors of dread trailing after platitudes she was taught to speak. Smile to hide, keep them comfortable and in the dark, her mother harped.

She smiled, curtly and without mirth. It did not reach her eyes; he noticed.

“Ah, sorry. I was… lost for a moment.” She hugged her knees to her chest and watched him.

He flexed his fingers as if fighting an invisible force to still them. He looked away.

“I am sorry, I should not have pried.” He glanced at her, an understanding settling between them. ‘ _This is not for the others,’_ hung between their glances. She cleared her throat.

“Well, shall we tuck in? It would be a waste to not enjoy such tempting delights!” She laid out the silverware, a well-oiled lie spread on her lips. To most, all they saw was a smile. Most did not see the darkness lurking behind her eyes or the cold fury that lay within as some great beast slumbering at the bottom of an abyss. He saw. He knew such a feeling as his own skin.

“As you wish.” He took the plate she handed him. Honey wept over the dark cake, glistening and tempting. It made the bitterness and spice underneath more palatable.

His eyes flicked towards her, studying her as she did the forgotten tome in the blanket's corner. They retreated as she caught them.

“Can you tell me of your journeys in the fade?” She hedged.

He dipped his chin at her regally. “I would be happy to share it with you.”

She mirrored the gesture. A languid smile bloomed on her lips as his gentle baritone surrounded them. They shared a small part of themselves with each other under the blanket of stars and glow of the candle. The night lingered, languid and lurking as secrets between strangers stitched an invisible tether of understanding.

Lavender creeped over the clouds before they stirred and resumed their places in their corner of world and left their respite from the Haven of others.


	5. The Wisp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do I dare  
> Disturb the universe?  
> In a minute there is time  
> For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse." T.S Eliot

Lavellan: Wisp

At night the castle shrank with a great inhale of breath as the main doors closed and its inhabitants tucked themselves away into its long-forgotten limbs. A shrill howl of wind banged against the doors, demanding entry and swallowed by the ancient stone. Flickers of flame and shrouded whispers echoed deep in the belly of Skyhold. Somewhere, a door groaned open, and a shadow slipped into the darkness.

Lavellan’s eyes ached with the cloying weariness of a sleepless night. It was late -no- early? She didn’t know, but she conceded defeat to her battle with sleep. She sprang out of bed and grabbed her sword. The mountain chill clung to her breaths for warmth. She didn’t mind. The frost brought her to life.

She enjoyed the stillness of early mornings the most. There were no prying eyes peering into her, whispers cutting into her to shape what she should be. She let her feet wander as her thoughts did. She trailed her hand over the stone walls, feeling all the forgotten memories that dwelled within. She descended the stairs near Josephine’s office. In the lowest levels, she felt the veil ebb and flow as a piece of laundry in the wind.

Perhaps it was the anchor. Perhaps it was the countless battles she fought across Thedas. Either way, she found her magical awareness growing. She had no qualms about what she was. She was a warrior, and a heretic Herald of Andraste. She was also a Dalish heretic, but no one had to know that.

So, she tucked this secret away with all her others. She had to. She thought of Cassandra as an older sister, but she knew the Seeker would throw her back in a dungeon at the slightest hint of shenanigans. Magical shenanigans, that is; not the usual hijinks involving Sera or the Chargers. Or, she had to admit, Dorian after a few bottles of wine. She still owed Josephine a staggering amount of gold for the damages to the wine cellar and for the years taken off of the Antivan’s life. Now that she thought of it, she owed Cullen. The poor man grumbled far too much for one so young and handsome.

Lavellan paused beneath the dubious mural on the wall. She felt something press against the veil. It felt small, like a sparrow perched on a finger. She flexed her anchored hand, feeling the tendrils of the veil wrap around her fingers. She gasped as a warm, thrumming orb of energy settled into her palm. She couldn’t see it, but she felt its presence. Images flashed into her mind, and memories of sensations. She saw a candle’s flame undulating in the shadow; a murmuration of starlings at dusk. Then, sensations of warmth; tea on her tongue, burning as she swallowed; a hand slipping into hers. She should be afraid, she knew. She had so much sense, there was no room for fear her sisters always said. She could not control her magic well, but she did not sense any danger from this… wisp? She took a breath to steel herself before tentatively tightening her grip around the tattered threads of the veil and pulling. She blinked at the warm, glowing orb that bounced around her palm. She inhaled sharply through her nose and took a step back. The tiny wisp bobbed excitedly around her, leaving trails of light as it moved.

This was ridiculously unwise, she knew, but she couldn’t stop smiling at the thing. The wisp brightened as a glowstone would and bounced closer to her. Lavellan knew it wanted to communicate, but she didn’t know how. She tucked a curl behind her ear as an uncertain “hello?” fell from her mouth. The wisp bounced excitedly, dimming as it changed colors from a candle flame yellow to blush pink. A flash of images appeared in Lavellan’s mind: a letter folding, a quill dipping in ink, and a blank piece of parchment. Lavellan furrowed her brows. Translating was not her strong suit. “Ah! I know. Follow me, please.” She ran towards the small study tucked away in the room's corner. The door was open.

She brushed away the spiderwebs on her way to the desk. She rummaged around for a bit of parchment and ink. She twirled around, eyes scanning for a quill. She gave up with a huff and pulled a pin from her hair. A wave of copper curls washed over her shoulders. She dipped the end of the pin in the ink and laid it on the table expectantly. The wisp bobbed around it in circles, colors bursting from it in random succession. It showed her flashes of text, the spine of a book where the title should be, people turning around after being called. The images had no concrete details; text floated around the book changing shape, as did the features on the people’s faces.

Lavellan blinked for a moment, then beamed at the wisp as she realization dawned on her. “Names! You want a name?” She asked breathlessly. The wisp bounced up and down as if nodding in agreement, then started floating around her head in excited circles. Lavellan giggled as she felt its warmth flutter on her skin. “Dhea Lavellan. Though, no one calls me that.” The wisp stopped in front of her nose and started spinning slowly. Flashes of the sun breaking over the horizon and birds stirring from their nests appeared in her mind. Then it was roosters and steaming mugs of coffee, bitter to the taste. Lavellan nodded and cupped the wisp in her palm. “Yes! Dhea means morning. Oh, you are so clever!” Lavellan crooned at the wisp. It glowed a bashful shade of blue and flew to the hairpin on the desk.

Lavellan’s face darkened. Was this a demon? Or a spirit? She tilted her head at the wisp. “Are… are you a demon?” She asked, though she knew it was a stupid thing to do. It chirped in response and tilted sideways. A bubble of laughter burst from her chest. She smiled at the little spirit-thing and spun toward the door. “Wait here, okay? Stay quiet, please.” She flitted to the doorway and looked back at it one last time. “I’ll be back soon,” she said as she closed the door. Lavellan turned towards the rotunda, her pace determined.


	6. Indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I searched for form and land  
> For years and years I roamed  
> I gazed a gazely stare, at all the millions here  
> We must have died alone” – David Bowie

Solas: Indulgence

He was climbing stairs that ascended nowhere. Spirits roamed among the elves in their crystalline spires floating in the trees. Magic hung in the air, thick and rich and tasting of wine. The surrounding faces were bare and without features; moving statues of a bygone age. Details eroded here, as paint on a canvas left in the sun. Still, he wandered as he slept. Once all the faces were as familiar as his own. He knew them; remembered them. Memories of conversations used to settle around him as snow or rain. Now, he was all that remained. The only memory kept clear were the ears. He came here to remember, to remind him of his goal. He felt his resolve slipping through his fingers the longer he stayed awake among familiar strangers.

“Solas?” Lavellan’s voice echoed around him. No, this isn’t right. The fade shifted around him as her voice became clearer. Images melted away as ashes in a fire and she was there before him. Her face was just as he remembered. She smiled his favorite smile of hers; the one that crinkles her eyes and turned the tips of her ears pink. She was the clearest image among the shadows of his empire. Something warm grew in his chest as he saw her here, and he allowed himself to yield to it. Just for a moment, he told himself.

“Solas? I need you to wake up. Please.” He felt her touch his arm. It was feather-light, but it _burned_. No, this isn’t right. Something that he wanted shouldn’t hurt him like this. Not here.

“Solas…” Her voice shrank and her touch left him as she was pulled away. Distraught, he reached for her. No, not yet. Come back, stay with me…

“Lethallan.” Solas breathed as he jerked awake. He blinked at a golden pair of eyes in the dark. He was back in the rotunda, and it smelled of paint and old parchment and _her._ He looked down to something warm in his palms and he realized he was holding her hand. He dropped it immediately as if it truly burned him and ducked his head. His gaze flicked to the wall as a blush crept onto his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Ah, my apologies. I seemed to have been dreaming. I… did you…?” His voice was small and rough as it floated away from him. He couldn’t look at her.

She willfully ignored him calling her ‘lethallan,’ or him grabbing her hand and the thrill she felt. “Yes. Ah, sorry to wake you. I… well, I need your expertise. I may have done something… unwise.” Her words were careful, as if she chewed on them first before allowing them into the existence.

Solas looked at her then, his face just as serious as she thought it would be. Steeling herself, she continued, “you have experience with spirits of the fade, and, well, magic, and… lots of things. Probably more than you let on, undoubtedly…” The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. Her resolve wavered the longer she looked at him, so her eyes flitted to the ceiling and she continued spewing words with increased urgency before her mind got the better of her. “You see, I was experimenting… testing a hypothesis. You know, for science.” She glanced at him and shrank. A single brow of his rose higher than Andraste herself, or those corpses in the Fallow Mire that wanted a second chance at life.

Still, Solas was silent. She closed her eyes and confessed. “I brought a spirit through the veil and it’s in the study downstairs,” her words tumbled out of her in a pile and she waited. Seconds stretched before her. Time went still, and she wasn’t sure if this was real. Maybe she was in the fade. Maybe none of this was real, and she’d wake up in an aravel surrounded by her sisters and smelling of campfires and leather. Then his other brow joined the first, and he frowned. It was his thoughtful frown, the one he used when reading an arduous tome. Lavellan pouted at the implications and started planning her escape route from the castle. And possibly a new identity as she fled from the Inquisition and _Cassandra._

Solas was absolutely amused, perhaps even delighted. He shouldn’t let her squirm like this, he knew, but he had precious few opportunities to do so. So, he indulged himself for a second time and noted how long it took for her to pout. For research, of course, he told himself. That he had enough research for an anthology of Lavellan’s expressions, or how adorable he found them, was beside the point.

He sighed wearily and got to his feet. He grabbed his staff and looked at her expectantly. “Show me,” he whispered. She couldn’t be sure, but Lavellan thought she saw him grin as she turned away. She looked back at him and he shrugged innocently at her. She pouted again and headed toward the stairs. Solas followed with a bemused grin.


	7. Little Hurts and Bitter Mornings

Cole POV: Little hurts and bitter mornings.

Something was wrong. A piece of _there_ was here in the place that held the sky. He pushed through in the White Spire, but this piece was pulled through by her; warm hands in a stream, tugging tangled hair through a brush. She felt like Rhys did in the tower, but she shouldn’t have that power and it was _wrong._

Cole slipped through the castle unnoticed. The little piece of the fade was small, but bright and unfinished. Colors and pictures bled into each other. It felt young. The Morning held it and it was calm, but it grew louder as she left. Cole slipped into the study. The spirit, curiosity, spoke as it did in the fade. Cole smiled and returned its pictures with his own. It liked his hat! It floated around this and that until the door creaked open and the Old Wolf followed the Morning. The curiosity spirit rested in Cole’s palms with a baleful chirp.

“Hello Cole.” Lavellan said, her words were warm cakes from the oven, and she smiled at him. She was his friend and he was hers and it felt right.

“Hello.” Cole said. He wanted to ask why she pulled at the veil as Rhys did, but the words wouldn’t come, so he waited. Solas’ thoughts were burning and churning and then turned dark for a moment. He held up his hands and pulled the fade into his palm. The room glowed green for a moment as he tested the veil then the light faded. He smiled and Pride was proud of her; so much it burned in his chest. But still he kept it hidden, though Cole didn’t know why.

“Interesting!” Solas said as he looked at the little spirit, scholarly excitement tinting his voice. “You did this with the anchor?” He asked.

“Yes! I could feel a little rip in the veil, and I just…” Lavellan looked in the air to find the right words. “I pulled the thread. If that makes sense?” Her voice sounded young and for a moment she was back with her keeper. A little bubble of hurt floated to the surface. She could still feel the little sparks on the back of her knuckles when she gave a wrong answer. Would Solas be the same?

Solas smiled fondly at her and held his hand out expectantly. “Yes, it does. May I?” He said tentatively. He was always gentle around her. She put the anchor in his hands and it flared as he spilled his magic into it. He hummed and adjusted the little threads of mana that she held but didn’t know. “Your magic is growing stronger. Have you tried the simple spells I showed you?” He idly rubbed his thumb across her knuckles as he spoke. He didn’t look at her.

“Ah… well, yes. They still sort of… explode.” She shrugged at him and looked at the stones in the floor. Cole felt the little knot of anxiety twist in her chest. Solas hummed pensively in response. He squeezed her hands gently before letting her go and he finally looked at her. She felt his gaze settle over her and she rose to meet it. Something heavy settled in the air between them and Cole didn’t understand it, but he knew it was important. He simply watched with the little Curiosity sleeping in his hands.

“You seem to be a medium, Inquisitor. Try this again with your other hand. It is good practice, and it will strengthen your connection with the veil. I shall do some research and help you as much as I can with this new development. I suspect your sensitivity with the veil grew, and will continue to grow with the more rifts that you close. This is… truly fascinating.” Solas’ words drifted away as he became lost in thought. He allowed himself to look at her for a moment longer and yielded to the warmth he felt rising in his chest. He looked away once it burned his cheeks and he cleared his throat. His voice was cold again before he spoke. “Your keeper was undoubtedly rigid and ignorant with such magic. Indeed, such abilities would be feared among the Dalish, and especially the Chantry. I shall teach you to control it. Perhaps, in time, you will grow into the mage you should have been.”

Cole felt the old hurt rip and tear at Solas, but he didn’t know how to help it, so he said nothing. Instead he turned to Lavellan, hearing an old sleeping hurt slashing and bleeding in her at Solas’ words.

She pinned him with an icy look. “I am fine as I am, Solas. I’ve no talent or patience for magic. This-“ she waved her anchored hand in the air- “was an accident. And, though entirely intriguing and wonderful, probably isn’t permanent. So, I’ll practice this new skill while there is still time, but I assure you my desire for magic tutelage ends there,” her words held the austerity of a queen and froze Solas in place. He inclined his head to her. “As you wish, Inquisitor. I apologize for overstepping,” he said through his grin. There was no end to her surprises, and it delighted him.

The little wisp inched up Cole's arms, chirping as it ascended. He held very still for it and watched the two elves burned for each other. He tilted his head as he read them. "Lips caressing your ear, shirts on the floor, limbs twisted _bowed but never broken..._ you want to be broken, though. Pushed until you wanted to break, breaths-" Lavellan clapsed her hand over Cole's mouth. She was red. Solas looked at the floor. He was also red. Cole tilted his head the other way and tented his brows at Dhea.

"Cole, please," Dhea breathed. "Why don't you tell us about this little guy instead?" She crooned at the little wisp on his shoulder. It glowed pink and chirped at her excitedly. Cole nodded his head and told them about his new friend. He didn't know why, but they elves wouldn't look at each other even though they wanted to very much. People were so confusing. Maybe he'd ask Varric about it later. Or Dorian. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the ending on this chapter to make it more light hearted and ... smut related. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> This fic is a work in progress, and I'm still figuring out this whole fanfiction thing. Anyway, yay, Cole!


	8. Baseless Accusation

Varric: Baseless Accusation

Scratches from a quill and smoke from his pipe wafted into the air in a thick miasma of frustration. Bits of parchment and letters spilled from the bookshelves like scattered thoughts and in the middle was a great stone table littered with half-finished scraps of his latest novel. Seated at the head was the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild Prince, hacking away at his writer’s block with nothing but a quill and his stubbornness. A _thump_ on the balcony distracted him from his thoughts. It sounded like a sack of potatoes being tossed in a heap. Or, Varric mused, it could be a person. Though, not Cole. He was always silent. This had to be her. He looked up at an owlish pair of eyes that stared straight into him. Bless the elves, really, but their _eyes_ were something unsavory; especially in the dark. Varric felt a wry smile quirk his lip, and he crossed his arms and waited.

He heard scuffling and a few grunts of effort followed by a sweet, “Hello, Varric.” He dug around in a drawer for his extra pipe and a bit of tobacco. His smile spread as he saw her copper tuft of curls in disarray.

“Eggs. Lovely to see you, as always. So, what can I do for… “ his voice halted as he took in her blood-soaked shirt. Her left eye was slightly bruised and swollen, but she still wore an amiable smile and sauntered into his room like she owned it. Well, she _did_ , but she didn’t care about things like that. Still, Varric was very fond of his little home-invading Herald.

He let out a low whistle and handed her the pipe. He got up, shuffled around his armoire in the corner and pulled out a fresh tunic and grabbed two sets of glasses of a nearby table. She plucked a dusty bottle from the top shelf and slumped into a chair.

She amused Varric. She was just like Hawke. They both reminded him of a stray cat adopted by the neighborhood. They belonged to no one, and everyone at once. She had that “Hero” quality about her. Though, just like the Champion, there was something feral and dark lurking under a veneer of humor and softness. Enemies saw that side well, and they carefully hid it in public. Varric set the glasses down and tossed the fresh tunic at her. She caught it mid-air and flashed a grateful smile at him before she poured for them both.

“I know.” She cleared her throat and pitched it as low and gravelly as she could, “don’t bleed on my good chair, Eggs.” She beamed at him, and he had to admit that her impression of him was improving. She let out a small huff and pouted at him. “But it’s so comfortable, Varric.” She gave him her puppy eyes, even though she knew that shit doesn’t work on him. A chuckle rumbled in his chest before he answered her.

“Yeah, tell that to Ruffles the next time I put a request in.” He rolled his eyes at her and turned around with a flourish. He heard a shuffling and a little grunt of effort before a defeated “alright, I’m presentable,” came from her side of the table.

“So, that was not your blood, I take it?” He hedged and took a sip of brandy. He peered over the glass at her. She always said more in her face than with her words.

She shrugged and mumbled something about a wyvern being a gusher. Varric was not convinced. She was too _cavalier_ about the damn thing. He handed her a light for her pipe and waited. She’d crack eventually.

Dhea nodded to the pile of paper leaning dangerously on the table. “Is that the one about Vivienne?” Her eyes lit up, forcing harrumph from Varric.

“Yeah, such as it is. At this rate it’ll be kindling –“

“Or privy paper.” She tacked on. They both chuckled, raised their glass and drained it. She poured another for them. Varric grabbed his deck of cards from under a pile of unopened letters.

There was a thud outside his door, followed by Sparkler’s baritone bravado.

“Darling Dhea, my sweet little crumpet of destruction, I _know you’re in there._ You can’t hide from me!”

She smiled sheepishly at Varric and shrunk in her chair. He sighed and went to grab another glass.

“I brought the cask! You got the door opened yet?” Tiny’s voice boomed from the stairwell. Varric huffed out a laugh and grabbed his largest tankard. Lavellan went to open the door.

She flashed a crooked smile at Dorian and welcomed him inside with a dramatic flourish. He flicked a little spark at her and entered. Bull rushed through the door and threw her into the air. He kissed her on the cheek and placed her back on wobbly feet. “Hey boss!” He boomed, and went over to slap Dorian’s ass. Dorian just sighed dramatically and collapsed into a chair next to Lavellan. Varric smiled at the little invasion. He wasn’t getting any writing done, anyway. And getting Eggs to crack was quite enjoyable. She couldn’t resist all three interrogations, surely.

Dorian clicked his tongue at her and grabbed the drink out of her hand. “You’re not the first person to escape through a window at my behest, you know. But you are the cutest.” Dorian smiled wryly at her before taking a sip. “I do think Solas would agree.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, laughing as she turned crimson.

“I’ve no idea what you are on about. And we all had to flee. Cabot’s aim with that hatchet is too good, and it’s not the first time we stole a cask from the cellar.” She grabbed her drink back and winked at Dorian.

“Ah! It’s dulled. It won’t even break the skin!” Bull roared as he tapped the cask. “Well, I can’t speak for _Tevinter_ over there.” Bull poured a glass for Varric and set it on the table. Varric sighed as he noticed the gore crusted onto Bull’s trousers. Ah, well. It’ll add some personality to his furniture.

“You _can_ , and you _do._ Quite often, I might add.” Dorian tucked a curl behind Dhea’s ear and resumed waggling his eyebrows.

“Stop that before they fall off. And _again_ , I don’t know why you have this idea that Solas and I are anything more than friends, but we _aren’t_ and you can ask him. He’ll tell you the same.” Lavellan leveled a glare at him. Varric shook his head and chuckled. It was the same face she used in wicked grace, and she was terrible at it.

“Oh, _kaffas_ , he isn’t nearly as fun. And he’d give me that _look_. Maker knows I only suffer through that after my hand slips while returning a book to him.” Dorian sipped Lavellan’s drink sheepishly. She bellowed out a laugh.

“You throw them at him, and everyone knows it.” She said.

“I won’t comment on that _egregious_ claim. Now hold still.” He hovered an index finger over her bruised eye. It flashed a blue light as the healing magic knitted the skin together. She blinked at him and pecked him on the cheek in thanks.

“You and Chuckles, huh? Can’t say I didn’t see that one coming.” Varric sat down in his chair and resumed smoking. Lavellan picked up her pipe and did her best nonchalant impression. Bull peered at her with his one eye that saw too much. He grinned salaciously.

“No, but you _want_ a bit of that Elven Glory.” Bull guffawed at her reaction and grabbed the cards from Varric’s pile. He started dealing.

“Don’t get all flustered, Boss. We’re only looking out for you.” Bull winked at her and ruffled her hair.

She let out a plume of smoke and shrunk in her chair like some disgruntled baby dragon of denial. She grabbed her cards. “Baseless accusation.” She said and hid behind her hand. Laughter erupted at the table and they started their game.


	9. Helter Skelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When I get to the bottom  
> I go back to the top of the hill  
> Where I stop and I turn and I give you a thrill  
> 'Til I get to the bottom and I see you again" - Helter Skelter, The Beatles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on Oct 25th. It's been rewritten and re-uploaded on November 5th.

Cullen: Helter Skelter

His head ached. The clinking of ice in the cocktail tumbler felt like shards of glass in his skull. It was late. The dying embers of the fireplace cast harsh shadows on everyone gathered. It was jarring to him. In the day the fire dyed everything in a comforting glow, but now? Weariness and malcontent lingered in the shadows, and secrets hung in the air. The Commander took a long gulp of his whiskey and sighed. Madame De Fer had the foresight to provide alcohol for her affair.

With a flick of her wrist, Vivienne directed the stirring stick in the cocktail shaker. A splash of this and a sprinkle of that floated in the air and into the shaker like dutiful little marionettes on a string. “You’re going to love this, my dear Dhea.” Her voice dripped with icy sophistication and honey. A bottle from the top shelf floated to the Enchanter, offering itself with a little pop of its cork. She twirled a finger and the drink muddler resumed its duty.

“You’ve really outdone yourself with this cocktail, Ma’am.” The Iron Bull’s voice boomed across the room, hoping to ease the tension. It was a valiant effort, Cullen had to admit. He heard the spymaster and the ambassador assenting to his comment with varying hums. He and Dhea offered grunts of appreciation. He grinned at her. She was as put off by this whole affair as he was.

“I always know the right drink for my guests, darling” Vivienne said over her shoulder. She sliced her hand in the air slightly as a conductor to her unseen orchestra and all the objects ceased moving. She poured Dhea’s drink, nodding in satisfaction at her creation. She handed the Inquisitor her boulevardier with a fond smile.

Dhea grabbed her drink with her pinky outstretched and a nod of gratitude. Cullen’s grin widened. She was rather endearing; he had to admit.

“Oh, how _darling_ you are!” Vivienne chuckled at Dhea and went to drape herself on the edge of her chaise. “So! Where were we, my dears?” Vivienne swept her hand at the four of them, sending a tendril of frost to their glasses. Cullen tried not to wince at the flippant magic. Bull wasn’t as successful.

It was about time. Cullen cleared his throat and began his report, “Vernier, leader of the Resolutionists, have joined the Venatori. He is actively recruiting unaffiliated mages and plans another terror attack. With no Circle and the templars in shambles, we are best suited to stop them.”

“A delicate hand is needed, Commander. The Venatori must not be suspicious of our involvement.” Leliana’s gaze pierced him.

“The Ben-Hassrath have tracked crates of stolen gaatlok to an estate in Val Chevin where he is holding the meeting,” Bull said, sipping his cosmopolitan daintily.

“A soiree at Enchanter DeLauncet’s summer estate is the cover for their meeting,” Josephine said primly as she sipped from her brandy glass.

“Hm, yes dear,” Vivienne crooned. “The last time the Resolutionists gathered, the Kirkwall Chantry incident occurred.” Vivienne savored her gimlet and peered at the Nightingale.

“Yes,” Leliana began, “I mentioned this to the Champion just before the _incident_ ,” the word dripped with sarcasm. “We tried to convince Grand Cleric Elthina to flee Kirkwall before… but to no avail.” Her face slipped into the shadow of her hood before continuing, “Hawke’s companion, Fenris, mentioned they were supported by the magisters of Tevinter. At the time, there was no proof.” She pulled a scroll from her sleeve and left it on the table. “Now, however, it seems he was correct.”

“So, we go to Val Chevin, clear out the Venatori and save the day?” Dhea said between sips, “We have to christen our gift from King Alistair, after all. Let’s have some fun, shall we?” She said, downing her drink.

Cullen bowed his head to her and grinned.

“Hell yea! When are we leaving, boss?” Bull asked.

“Tomorrow.” Dhea said.

Josephine grinned wickedly before adding, “Don’t forget to dress accordingly, Inquisitor.”

“It’s about time you executed the game in style, instead of your usual crusted viscera and gore, my dear” Vivienne added.

Leliana said and raised her glass to the others. They joined and continued planning late into the night.


	10. Too Smooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And he’s quick with a joke, and he’ll light up your smoke, but there’s somewhere that he’d rather be.” – Billy Joel

Varric: Too Smooth

She was one hell of a ship, and a kingly gift, Varric thought as he lit his pipe. He sniffed. If he closed his eyes, it smelled just as the docks of Kirkwall did. Salt, grime, stale ale and piss lingering in the air. Only instead of vagabonds and cutpurses milling about, there were Inquisition scouts. He sighed. Instead of giant chains in the harbor, there was a green hole in the sky. He missed Kirkwall, but he had to finish what he started.

He leaned against the seawall and admired the view. The ship had that rough and tumble nobility of Ferelden, all smothered in canvas and weathered oak. Untamable savageness lingered underneath all the finery and varnish. Not unlike their inquisitor, he noticed. He looked over at his little Eggs carrying on with Dorian. He laughed to himself. He saw bits and pieces of old familiar faces in everyone he met. Like he was some archivist, collecting people and their stories into his anthology. Eventually the same tropes emerge, same storylines but with a distinct flavor. He saw Fenris’ loneliness in Solas. Merrill’s innocence in Cole. Hawke’s false fragility in Dhea. Isabella’s brazenness in Tiny. All different, but with familiar pieces. He wanted to protect them all.

“Lost in thought, Master Tethras?” Solas’ voice cut through his reflections.

“You caught me, Chuckles,” Varric said with a shrug. He noticed Solas was less morose and broody today. Maybe the sea air washed away all those paint fumes he’s been locked up with.

“You’re admiring the ship, I take it?” Varric tested.

“Yes. She is marvelous,” he said with a smile. An honest to Maker smile, not related to the Elven empire or Lavellan. It was odd.

“You’re a fan of the sea, then?” Varric hedged. Solas smirked at him. It was friendly, no hint of a superior attitude or anything. Very weird.

“Indeed. It has been too long since I’ve enjoyed a trip at sea. What of you, Varric? Does the harbor remind you of Kirkwall?”

“Smells the same, but lacks the wailing statues and giant chains,” Varric said, smirking at the little chuckle from Chuckles. “Sounds like Val Chevin will be just as dangerous, though.”

Solas hummed in agreement. “This Vernier is troublesome. Revolutions without foresight and subtlety always fail before they begin,” he said pensively.

“Picked up that piece of wisdom from the Fade, did you? Or from experience?” Varric peered at him. Chuckles always carved his words carefully before giving them away. He was always vague, covered in veiled truths.

“A bit of both, perhaps,” he returned with a sly smile. Varric shook his head. This guy was smoother than his haircut.

“Well, seems an easy enough mission. But it’s Inquisition business, so some weird shit is bound to happen,” Varric said through a puff of smoke. He turned to Solas and offered his pipe. Solas quirked a brow.

“Elfroot and tobacco?” He asked as he took it.

“And a bit of hash for the nerves,” Varric said as Solas lit it with a snap of his magic fingers. He took a deep puff and nodded.

“You know, Dhea comes up sometimes for a friendly pipe and cards. You should join us sometime, Chuckles. Air yourself out, talk a little with your friends. It’s good for the humors, or something.” Varric noticed the little bashful pink that crept into his ears with a smirk.

“Thank you. I… just might,” he said and returned the pipe.

“Gentlemen,” Leliana’s voice appeared behind them. Varric coughed through his guilt and tried to snuff the pipe. Solas merely chuckled and bowed his head to the Nightingale. She gave him a knowing smirk and continued, “There’s a briefing onboard _the Crucible_ in ten minutes. I shall take my leave before you set sail.”

“Lead the way, spymaster,” Solas said with a regal tilt of his chin. Varric gave him a side-eye. He was too damn smooth.


	11. Can You Play Us a Memory?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “it’s sad and its sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man’s clothes.” – Billy Joel

It was evening. A chill hung in the air between the stars and gentle waves. Solas stood on the bow of the ship and breathed in the salty air. For the first time in this age, he felt alive. He couldn’t predict what would happen on this venture. He was glad he stayed.

Laughter and music drifted from the dining hall as a few people spilled out onto the deck. All was calm, for now.

As the music swelled the Iron Bull swept Dorian into his arms for a waltz. Varric lit his pipe and leaned onto the balcony, waving at Cole in the Bird’s Nest. Solas smiled fondly at Dhea as she approached him.

“Hello,” he breathed.

She hummed at him and wrapped her arms around herself. “Alone again, I see,” she said. “A night as beautiful as this shouldn’t be spent alone, Solas.”

“I am glad you found me then,” he returned.

The music shifted to another waltz. It sounded just like an old favorite from Arlathan. Though he was sure it couldn’t be, he smiled all the same. Solas noticed her shiver slightly, and perhaps it was the music mingled with the salt air. Perhaps he was losing his mind from being awake for too long. Regardless, for the first time in a very long time he yielded to his reckless abandon and allowed himself a temporary indulgence outside of the Fade.

He moved his arms in a circular motion, and Elven glyphs appeared on his palms. With a flick of his wrists, the glyphs dissipated into the air as shimmering orbs of lights. They radiated heat and surrounded the deck in a gentle glow as they floated in the air.

Dhea gasped and flashed his favorite smile. Before he could stop himself, he held a hand out to her and bowed. “May I have this dance, Inquisitor?”

She grabbed his hand; damn the consequences. He kissed it and swept her into his arms for a waltz. For a fleeting moment, all that existed were the two of them. She fit into his arms perfectly, and she felt undeniably real. Solas felt a warmth expanding in his chest, and he didn’t fight it. He allowed himself to yield to this feeling that he had been fighting. This intoxicating, selfish, fleeting feeling that eluded so many. He held her desperately, feeling her muscle and bones that caged her spirit and made her blood quicken, for he wanted all of it, even though it wasn’t for him. He knew it in his bones, that was why he wandered alone, but he didn’t care. So, he danced, and he yielded, just for a moment longer while the music played and he could forget himself, just for a moment.

Then the music stopped.

He remembered himself and released her with a regal bow. She smiled at him and curtsied, chain mail and all. The others started applauding them, but they sounded very far away. He smiled at her before he turned away; a broken one, made of longing and regret.

This was not the time.

Solitude and regret engulfed him in his familiar numbing vice as he walked back to his chambers. He looked back one final time before caging himself for the night. She was dancing with the dwarf. Gentle laughter mingled with the waves and music was playing again.

This was not for him.

He sighed and closed his door. He was alone again, as he should be.


	12. Sail Away Sweet Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sail away sweet sister, sail across the sea, maybe you find somebody who loves you half as much as me” - Queen

Dorian: Frilly

Dorian slapped Dhea’s hand, and she fidgeted with the neckline of her dress. She blew a curl out of her face and pouted, because she was _insufferable._ So insufferable that he wanted to pinch her cheeks, sometimes. He would, too if she wouldn’t punch him. He adjusted the last curl in her low bun and stepped back to appreciate his handiwork.

She wore an evening gown cut on the bias with an open back and a boat cut neckline. It was made of velvet so black it looked like it consumed all the surrounding light. He draped a golden necklace around her. It complemented her deep bronze skin tone perfectly.

“Dorian, this is completely unnecessary, and tactically unsound. I’ll get blood all over it. Dorian… you’re ignoring me again,” she said in a huff. He smirked and kept adjusting. He wondered how long she’d talk until she cracked. 

“Dorian Pavus of Minrathous, will you stop fiddling about? We’ve got a cult to stop. People to stab. You know, the usual Inquisition shenanigans. Hello?” She said with that _look;_ the kind that precedes a punch, usually. Dorian sighed and took a step back, out of range.

“My dearest friend, will you hush and appreciate all my work? You cannot burst into an Orlesian gala in _chain mail,”_ he insisted. “Besides, it holds your armor.” He wiggled his fingers and added, “magic.”

She preened at that like a cat that got into the cream. “Alright,” she lamented and went to the mirror. She turned this way and that with a blank expression, as if she were noticing a stranger. Knowing her, however, she was probably checking for structural weaknesses.

“I don’t look too frilly?” She asked with a grimace.

“No.” Dorian grabbed her hand. “You look _resplendent_ , my darling,” he said, his voice overflowing with earnestness and love.

“I look ridiculous,” she said as she adjusted her black leather foot wrappings. He sighed at her reflection. She and the Seeker have too much in common when it comes to finery.

“You’re sure it will work? Just break the amulet and our battle gear will appear?” She asked.

“Yes. Dagna was quite excited as she demonstrated the prototype,” he answered.

“Dagna wore armor?”

“No, but the Commander did,” Dorian said with a wistful grin. Dhea snickered and adjusted his lapel.

“Now, let’s go hunting,” she said as she headed towards the deck to meet the others.

“After the canapes and wine! Have I taught you nothing?” Dorian jibed as he shut the door.


	13. Body Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The boy with the thorn in his side  
> Behind the hatred there lies  
> A murderous desire for love” – The Smiths

Fenris: Body Count

It had been some time since he was in Val Chevin. The city still reeked of piss and excess, though it lacked the nauseous undercurrent of perfume Val Royeaux had. He had been tracking these bloody Venatori from the Tevinter border. It was a good thing the mages kept their noses in books or they would have tracked the trail of corpses he left in his wake. The last one he interrogated mentioned a Vernier in Val Chevin before he bled out. So here he was, freezing outside a café and waiting for the mages to finish their meeting so he could add to his body count. Isabella would have been disappointed. This wasn’t the ‘fun’ kind of body count, she’d say. ‘It was cleaner than her version’, Aveline would say.

He smiled to himself in the dark and adjusted the red cloth on his wrist. It was as frayed and tattered around the edges as he was. It was his most precious possession.

The bell outside the café door jingled as a hooded figure left, mumbling to himself. Fenris slipped into the shadows behind him. He was lucky this one was on the batty side. It must have been all the blood loss. Hopefully, this one wouldn’t bleed as much as the last.

He followed him to a caravan on the outskirts of the city. There were carriages covered in filigree and brimming with people in robes, and carts filled with crates and bags. He noticed a cage on the end of the procession filled with elves covered in rags and shame. He felt the familiar sting of his lyrium marks as his rage swelled at the sight of them. He adjusted the cloth at his wrist and slipped into the back of a cart. He found an empty crate at the back and crawled inside for the ride.

***

The caravan jolted to a stop. Snippets of a string quartet and laughter drifted to his ears. He waited for the cart to be unloaded with a dagger primed. He jostled inside the crate as it was lifted out of the caravan.

“Maker, this crate’s heavier than the others, no?” A voice said in a squeaky Orlesian accent.

“Maybe it’s got a dead ox man inside. They guard that potion of theirs with such conviction!” A deep Tevinter baritone added.

“Well, perhaps it was a small Qunari,” the first voice said.

Fenris rolled his eyes inside the crate. He hadn’t gained that much weight, had he? Not since Hawke left, surely. He felt the crate land on solid ground with a _thud_ and held his breath. When the voices were far enough away, he cracked open the lid. He was at some estate, near the servant’s quarters most likely. There were five people in total: three of them in robes, and two in servant’s clothes. He watched. The servants went back inside, and the robes huddled around a crate. Still, he waited. He knew their pattern well. When he smelled blood in the air and heard the mumbling, he finally leapt from his crate.

The last thing the mages saw was a blue streak of vengeance. He didn’t need to draw his blade. He wiped his hands on a robe made of ring velvet and slipped into the estate.


	14. Thunderdome

Iron Bull: Thunderdome

The ballroom was huge. People in their best gowns and tuxedos pranced about behind gilded masks. Most were mages Vernier hoped to recruit. Ben Hassrath agents and inquisition scouts were searching the estate for the missing gaatlock.

Bull adjusted his blazer. He felt like a stuffed chicken waiting to be roasted, which he might be before the night is up; or frozen. Damn these mages and their demon crap. Still, he liked the little bites of food, free booze, and plenty of eye candy. Schmoozing was all well and good, but what made his teeth itch was the crackle of magic in the air. This place reeked of it, and it didn’t help matters that something enchanted the ceiling to look like clouds at daybreak.

He leaned against the wall and surveyed the area.

Boss was mingling with some doughy robe. Her dress drew attention from everyone nearby. She had the best ass this side of the Frostbacks, no contest.

He glanced at Solas shoved into a corner, looking like he was about to combust as he stared at Boss. Bull downed his drink and sauntered over. Finally, some entertainment!

“You know, I’ve got some nice whips I can loan you if you want to self-flagellate. Nug skin and Druffalo hide. Very top of the line stuff,” Bull teased.

“Oh? A nice offer. I might take you up on it after you get the Tevinter’s blood off of them,” Solas deadpanned.

“Ah! He’s too soft for that. You, however, seem used to self-inflicted punishment, Fadewalker,” Bull chided. Solas’ scowl deepened. “Or, you know, you could ask her to dance again. She’d probably say yes. And that dress is easier to take off than her usual chain mail and leather,” Bull said evenly as he peered at the mage. His grin spread as Solas’ entire face turned pink, all the way to his ears. He sputtered and glared into the Iron Bull’s eye.

“I am _certainly_ not thinking of… that,” Solas said and looked away from her. He turned a deeper shade of pink.

“Sure… whatever you want to tell yourself,” Bull winked at him and looked over at Boss. Her dress hugged all the right places, showing off her muscular build and _assets_. For an elf, she had impressive strength.

“Perhaps you _like_ the chain mail and leather. I’ve got ropes too, if you want to try them out. I’ve got a feeling she might like it…” Bull tested and immediately regretted it. Solas pinned him with a venomous glare. The kind that precedes a murder. Bull blanched. He was sure the mage had some deep secret, and a hell of a lot of issues. But this? This was _predatory._ This was malice and contempt unleashed. For a moment, Bull wasn’t sure which side Solas was on.

“Do not speak of her in that manner, The Iron Bull,” he said, carefully controlling his emotions. Then he was back to his unassuming self; bald and bland as far as anyone can tell. Bull suppressed a shiver. Solas was masterful at hiding and controlling himself; almost too good. Bull wouldn’t be surprised if Solas turned out to be the one behind the veil, pulling all the strings to make everyone dance to his tune.

“Right. Apologies, Fadewalker. I meant no disrespect. Forget I said anything.” Bull looked away warily and continued surveying the room. He spotted a newcomer in the far side of the ballroom, by the servant’s quarters. He was an elf with tattoos leading from his chin down to his neck and below. He had a mop of white hair and a ‘fuck you’ attitude about him. He was damn attractive and dangerous. 

“Far side, near the servant’s entrance,” Bull murmured. Solas glanced up and narrowed his eyes.

“Spy? One of yours?” Solas asked.

“Not sure,” Bull said as low as he could. He saw the elf eye the ceiling with obvious disgust and retreat to the shadows of the room. “No, this one isn’t in the Qun. He can’t hide his emotions. The magic makes him uncomfortable. He seems to be alone, though,” Bull said.

Then the ceiling darkened. Tumultuous clouds descended to the center of the ballroom, hanging as some magic chandelier of bullshit.

The lights dimmed and the storm clouds rolled into a fine mist that spread across the room. “Thank you all for coming. Now for the main event,” a voice boomed from the clouds.

 _“Vashedan_ , you mages always gotta be so dramatic?” Bull lamented. Solas snickered.

“Not everyone has a flare for the drama. Though it is entertaining, I’ll admit,” Solas whispered, glancing at Boss. She walked towards Varric and Dorian, knuckles cracking as she went. Bull noticed the exits were being blocked. There was still no signal from the Ben Hassrath.

The mist coagulated into the center of the ballroom, lightning crackling in the center. A mage stepped out of the center, into thin air. He was tall, with a chiseled jaw and cold eyes. “I am Vernier, the leader of the Resolutionists. I have gathered you all here to join our cause. Hear me! Too long have we been oppressed for our gifts! Too long have we bowed to the Chantry and the Templar Order!” The mage bellowed.

Six mages stepped out of the clouds behind him. The crowd murmured and gasped in surprise. Some started applauding. The floating mages bowed their head and started mumbling. They moved their hands in a synchronized arc, a red corona of light appearing over their movements.

“The Chantry has fallen. The templars are in shambles. Now is our chance for change. With the Venatori, we shall be the harbingers of a new age of magic!” Vernier snapped his finger and a bolt of lightning and thunder echoed throughout the great chamber. The surrounding mages continued their synchronized movements, their eyes shining red. Scattered applause and hushed whispers erupted in the crowd.

Bull and Solas had been slowly moving into position as the speech continued. Dhea began taking off her gloves.

Their mumbling grew to a crescendo. Venatori emerged from the crowd, capturing guests and holding a dagger to their necks. The mages in the clouds held a dagger to their wrists, prepared to strike.

“Not today, assholes!” Dhea yelled.

Everything flashed green.

Chaos ensued.


	15. Cherry Bomb

Solas: Cherry Bomb

Everything happened at once.

Solas felt the exhilaration of power as he contorted the veil in the ceiling. A black abyss swallowed the ceiling, sucking everyone into its center. Dhea cast mark of the rift into the abyss. Dorian immolated everyone trapped within. Scatters shrieks erupted over the balcony as the abyssal rift siphoned their fiery corpses.

Dorian and Solas swept their arms in the air in unison to dispel the enchanted clouds. Bodies fell from the air and a thick miasma of smoke and burnt flesh covered the ballroom.

“Fight, or flee!” Dhea roared toward the guests as everyone broke their enchanted amulets.

“Let’s kick some ass!” Bull yelled as he drew his maul.

“Ah, shit. Here we go again,” Varric said wryly.

“Have some faith, Master Tethras,” Solas said with a smirk as he threw a barrier over the party.

A dozen mages poured into the ballroom, shoving past the fleeing guests.

“Ah, perfect,” Dorian began, “our wager is still on, Dhea! Be prepared to pay up once my body count crushes yours.”

She turned to him. The raw power of her aura whipped loose curls around her face and cast her eyes in a deadly glow. “I’ll try to keep up, Tevinter,” she said sweetly as her reaver talons wrapped her muscles in a corona of crimson wrath. She took Solas’ breath away.

The litany of robes broke into two units to guard the exits. Solas and Dorian shared a look, nodded, and cast in unison. They surrounded both clusters of Venatori in a wall of ice and fire. Dhea charged for the wall of ice, Bull to the inferno. Both stamped their feet on the ground and bellowed a battle cry. Two rings of red light rose from the ground and surrounded the warrior’s domain.

With a vicious snarl, she ripped into the mage’s flesh with her draconic talons of light, blood splattering in the air in ribbons of dread. Solas cast a barrier of protection around her, noticing the talons tearing her asunder with each strike. The blood of her enemies rippled in the air before being drawn to her self-inflicted wounds and being devoured by her form as some ravenous goddess of wrath.

Cole appeared at her enemy’s flank, daggers and talons of terror working in tandem to smite their enemies. Solas threw barriers and glyphs around them both to bolster their defenses. He saw bodies fly into the air and explosions erupting all around the ballroom. Bursts of magic, clashes of metal, and screams of fleeing guests created a cacophony of chaos. Varric cried out that Bull was in trouble before stepping onto fire mine and flying into the air.

Suddenly, a blue streak emerged on the battlefield. Solas could only see a pulse of spirit energy lash into a cluster of bodies before darting to Bull’s aid.

Cole emerged from a shroud of smoke and thew flasks of bees at a cluster of mages. Dorian immolated them, laughing at the chaos. “Take that, you fiends!”

“Efficient!” Solas said as he slammed his staff to the ground. A halo of flame surrounded his hand as he gathered tendrils of the veil. Energy writhed and twisted into the center of the room, erupting into a maelstrom of fire. The air shrieked as infernal comets plummeted into the ballroom. He furrowed his brow as he sculpted the spell around his teammates.

“I’m too pretty to die!” Dorian yelled as he dodged a fireball. He whirled his staff at nearby corpses. Their scorched limbs jerked to life. They bolted toward a cluster of Venatori that became shrouded in a purple haze of horror.

Suddenly a blinding light emerged in the center of the ballroom. Vernier emerged from the smoke in a bubble of light. As he began chanting the ground shook. Cracks formed along the walls and floor.

“Dispel that barrier!” Dhea ordered.

Everyone charged at Vernier as the mages dispelled his defensive spell. The few remaining Venatori fled as the ceiling started falling. Fissures emerged all around them and walls started collapsing.

Explosions were everywhere. 

Just as he prepared a fade step, a white- hot pain erupted across his body. An explosion caught him. He felt his skin blister as flames engulfed him. His vision swam. Another wave of pain struck his chest. Then oblivion took him into its embrace.


	16. Comfortably Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'll need some information first  
> Just the basic facts  
> Can you show me where it hurts?  
> There is no pain you are receding  
> A distant ship smoke on the horizon  
> You are only coming through in waves  
> Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying”- Pink Floyd

Fenris: Comfortably Numb

A throbbing agony crawled along his skull. Aches and pains consumed him as he regained consciousness. He was strung over someone’s shoulder like fresh game from a hunt. Everything smelt of burnt flesh and acrid chemicals. “Unhand me,” he wanted to say, but his tongue wouldn’t comply. A deflated grumble left him as he pried his eyes open. Something, probably blood, stuck them together. He scowled as he saw Varric peer up at him with his shit-eating grin. So, he stepped into the Inquisition’s shit this time. Wonderful.

“Good morning, princess Broody. Sleep well?” Varric asked with feigned innocence. Fenris tried to lunge at him, but he couldn’t move. Varric was a damned lucky dwarf. And one of his only friends. “Fuck off,” Fenris tried to say, but only mumbles escaped his mouth. His eyelids drooped to slits. I’m probably dying, he thought as his limp body rattled against the person carrying him.

“Is he awake?” a woman said in a rich accented voice. With great effort, his eyes rolled to the voice’s source. She was an elf wearing black Dalish armor with russet colored skin. She was brawnier than Aveline, and her left hand glowed. She must be the Inquisitor.

“Don’t be alarmed, you’re being taken back to our ship. Vernier rigged the ballroom with gaatlock and escaped when it detonated. Your wounds are extensive, but our healers will take care of them. Please rest, we shall arrive shortly,” she pleaded. Fenris noticed her eyes were golden before he passed out.

***

Voices clattering together woke him up. He was numb and wrapped in poultices and linen sheets.

“You’re awake! You took your damned time, Broody,” Varric’s gravelly voice cut through the chatter.

“Mmf,” Fenris said as he sat up, and immediately regretted it. He felt shards of ice slice into his abdomen as his wounds re-opened. A massive grey hand appeared on his shoulder and eased him back into bed.

“Hey now, take it easy. This happens when you kick too much ass,” a qunari boomed. He looked like a living battering ram with bull horns.

“I’m The Iron Bull,” he said as he tucked Fenris in.

“Fenris,” he croaked. He looked around and saw another man crouched in a chair. He wore a drooping hat and looked cold and wet, but his clothes were dry.

“I am Cole,” the young man’s voice drifted from beneath his hat. There was something strange about him as he fidgeted with his hem, his movements sharp and jarring like he wasn’t used to his body. He saw two daggers on the boy’s back, and lock picking tools on his belt. Another rogue, Fenris thought.

“You’re in pain. Fresh cuts over an old, lingering scar that covers you. ‘His greatest achievement and property.’ Your shackles are broken but weigh you down. The Hawke helps you soar,” he said, his ghostly eyes boring into Fenris, causing him to recoil.

Varric put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave Fenris an apologetic smile, the kind he used on the bartender at the Hanged Man before he slipped him some coin for his troubles. “Ah, Cole’s got a funny way about him, but he’s a good kid. He’s alright,” Varric said.

“He’s a mage with daggers?” Fenris inquired with a wary look at the boy.

“He’s alright,” The Iron Bull added and gave the boy a rough pat on the back, then grabbed the boy as he almost fell over.

“Tiny hates magic as much as you, Broody. You’ll get along just fine,” Varric said as he lit his pipe. “You haven’t met Chuckles or Sparkler yet, or spoken with Eggs. They’re over in the other room tending to Chuckles. He got caught in the blast, too, and is still unconscious,” Varric said with a hint of concern. “Well, since you’re up, mind telling us what the hell you were doing at a Venatori meeting?” Varric said.

“Wait! Let me grab some snacks. Don’t start without me!” The Iron Bull said as he ran out of the room. Fenris smirked at the receding giant. He was unlike any Qunari he had met.

“I’m glad to see you again, Broody,” Varric said as he pulled his chair closer to the bed.

“As am I. You still owe me fifty crowns,” Fenris said. He grinned at the curse Varric threw at him.

“Love the new hair,” he said, pointing to Fenris’ undercut. “It’s Hawke’s doing?”

“Yes. It was too troublesome to clean all the blood out of it. Hawke helped me cut it before she headed for Skyhold at your behest.” Varric’s eyes glazed over like he was reliving some nightmare. “She mentioned something about preventing a Seeker of Truth from murdering you?”

“The Inquisitor intervened,” Varric mumbled.

The Iron Bull returned with an armload of liquor and a tray of food. “Alright! Let’s begin,” he said as he used Fenris’ bed as a serving table. Fenris laughed, despite himself. Maybe these Inquisition people weren’t so bad.


	17. I Want You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The guilty undertaker sighs  
> The lonesome organ grinder cries  
> The silver saxophones say I should refuse you  
> The cracked bells and washed-out horns  
> Blow into my face with scorn, but it’s  
> Not that way, I wasn’t born to lose you  
> I want you  
> I want you  
> I want you, so bad  
> Honey, I want you" - Bob Dylan

Solas: Living

He opened his eyes to a harsh, green light undulating above him. 

_Ah,_ he thought, _I am in the Fade._

The image in front of him swirled and shifted as he wandered. It was night. Orbs of light coalesced in the surrounding air, all bobbing in syncopation and glowing various colors. Solas smiled at the recognition. They were just like the little wisp Dhea pulled through the veil in the study. As he thought of her, they wove into a path of lights in a forest. He followed, taking in the peaceful view of a waterfall and forest canopy. He felt a familiar presence nearby. The little wisps bobbed around him and glowed lavender and blue. Images of daybreak and coffee floated into his mind. He smiled at the little orbs and returned an image of Dhea smiling. The wisps crooned a two-toned note and swirled around him. He laughed at their playfulness, halting as he entered a clearing in the forest.

Dhea sat in a lotus pose, surrounded by wisps of all sizes. The smaller ones were scaling her black Dalish warrior armor and lightly pulling at her curls to watch them bounce back around her face. A medium-sized spirit slumped on her head, reminding Solas of a sullen mushroom. He cleared his throat as he approached.

“Dhea,” he said warmly.

“Solas,” she returned.

“It seems I yet live,” he said sarcastically.

“Barely,” she deadpanned and patted the ground next to her. Some smaller spirits surrounded him in a halo and hummed a baleful tone. Images of candlelight and snow swam into his mind. He quirked a brow at Dhea as he sat, silently asking for clarification.

“They are showing you the images that remind me of your name. They asked for mine because yours did not fit… you? Your aura?” She waved a hand in the air and smiled crookedly. “I’m not sure how this all works, frankly,” she said with a crooked smile.

“You gave us quite the scare, Fadewalker. I… and the inquisition, are glad to see you; even here.” she said warmly. The little wisps started glowing a deep red and surrounded them. Solas felt himself flush, even here, at her words.

“That is…” he began, “surprising. I thank you for the concern, Inquisitor,” he said hesitantly.

“We all care for you, Solas,” she said with surprise, “Bull, Dorian, and myself have been taking shifts to watch over you and tend to your wounds. Varric has spent most of his time watching over his friend, but he has popped in. He said you undoubtedly miss his charming wit.”

Solas chuckled, despite himself. "Yes. I do miss our companions," he said earnestly. He rose to his feet and offered her a hand. Gingerly, she pried the spirit from her head and took it; squeezing it before letting go. They walked into the forest shoulder to shoulder. The wisps meandered above them, lighting their path in pastel colors.

Her hand brushed against his before she spoke. “Cole has been rather worried. He’s taken to leaving you odds and ends in your room on the ship,” she started, “It was flowers at first, then parchment and ink, and oh!” She spun towards him, beaming as she spoke, “my absolute favorite were these little candied ginger sweets he nicked from someone. They’re delicious. You’d love them,” she said through a guilty smile. She clasped her hand behind her back. Solas ignored his mounting regret at not holding her hand.

“Please thank everyone in my absence, Inquisitor,” he said, amused. As they walked, the scene changed. The canopy became thicker, colossal sylvan trees started coming to life and ambling around them; their boughs creaked and rumbled with each step. Solas wondered which forest they were in. How she would look among the crystal spires of Arlathan. He cast her a wistful glance and sighed. Practicality first, he decided before saying, “my injuries are extensive, are they not?”

“Yes, more extensive than Varric’s friend. You’ve been unconscious for about two days so far, but the healers and Dorian were able to stabilize you. You’ll probably be sore for a few more days. Don’t worry, you’re in very capable hands,” she said playfully as she bumped into his shoulder.

“I shall have to find a way to show my appreciation, Inquisitor,” Solas said. His flirtatious tone surprised them both.

She hummed pensively. “Yes, I shall send suggestions after you’re healed, of course. I wouldn’t want to add to your injuries,” she said facetiously. He huffed out a laugh and bumped into her shoulder.

The wisps swirled around them, glowing pink and warbling little trills of excitement. Some of them nudged into Solas’ shoulder, pushing him closer to Dhea. He laughed and gingerly pushed them away.

“It seems subtlety is not their strong suit,” Dhea said as she flicked her hand at them. They lamented in sorrowful little chirps before flitting among the trees.

“You are getting quite proficient with spirits! Have you tried conjuring anymore?” Solas asked.

“Not yet. They find me when I am dreaming,” she said with a shrug, “they only appear in the good dreams.” Her voice faded and her eyes were far away.

Rumbling erupted behind them.

A thunderous cacophony of hooves grew to a crescendo as a herd of halla and harts rushed by them. Solas yelped and jumped out of harm’s way, crashing into Dhea’s shoulder. She grabbed his hand and pulled him under a tree, safe from being trampled. Laughter burst from her. Life radiated from her until tears sprang from her eyes.

Solas was enraptured.

She had dimples, and never let his hand go.

A copper curl fell into her face. It obstructed his view. Solas' finger tucked it behind her ear reverently. It slid it up the slope of her ear as it left her.

She opened her eyes and searched his face, finding nothing but longing and affection. Her laughter subsided into an earnest smile. She leaned into him, and he was drawn to her; mesmerized by her spell.

She tucked her fingers into his palm.

Her hands were small.

Harts shrieked behind them and the herd still thundered by, but all he could hear was her breath mingling with his as her lips drew nearer.

She stopped, an inch from his face and looked up at him. An impish smile spread on her lips before she pecked him on the lips and leapt into the fray, laughing.

“Catch me for your reward, Fadewalker!” She jeered and braced herself.

“For what?” He asked, stunned.

“Living!” she bellowed and leapt onto a halla.

Solas shook his head before leaping onto a halla. He smiled until his cheeks should hurt and he chased laughter. 


	18. Kraken of Grogginess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (+++) = flashback. This is the last piece of fluff before the next action set. 
> 
> I'm a sucker for sweet moments. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Solas: Kraken of Grogginess

He awoke gently. Waves mumbled outside his window and parchment rustled in a brackish breeze. His eyes roamed to something warm pressed against him. He chuckled at seeing The Iron Bull’s torso sprawled across the foot of his bed. A bundle of blankets pillowed his head and pressed against Solas’ thigh. He had to give kudos to Bull’s configuration. Only formidable strategists would succeed with such a tight fit. Solas draped the edge of his sheet over him, eliciting an indignant snore before he settled. Solas turned his attention to the mound of parchment huddled on a corner table. Quills and ginger candies spilled from it like shrapnel. He smiled at Cole’s presents and reminded himself to thank everyone later.

Something stirred against him. 

A murmur of breath escaped the bundle of blankets. It rose and fell under Bull’s head. Solas peered into the linen cave and saw a small, russet colored hand curled in the opening. Scars were etched along the knuckles as an artist’s signature on a masterpiece. He melted at the sight, overcome with memories of the previous night.

+++

They rode barebacked on the halla, following the wisps’ path through the forest, leading them to a colossal Iron Bark tree. Its roots tumbled over each other, each one thicker than a person; its ivory bark stained with moss and vines. As they neared it, Dhea leapt off of her halla and began climbing its trunk, taunting him as she raced forward. Chagrined, he scaled after her receding figure until they broke through the canopy roof.

The highest branch cradled her knot of limbs as she waited for him. He slipped into the space next to her. A tentative silence enveloped them. She leaned against his shoulder and they stared into the sea of endless forest until they stumbled into their words again. Somewhere along the way their hands became entwined. They traded stories with each other, sharing tiny pieces of themselves until duty pulled her awake.

+++

The blanket nest writhed next to him, pulling him from his memories. Muscular arms stretched out of the opening, reminding Solas of an adorable apex predator emerging from its den. He greeted her and waited.

A tuft of curls popped out. She greeted him sleepily before wriggling from under Bull, careful not to wake him. Solas sat up as she scooted closer to him.

“I kissed you,” she declared.

“Indeed,” he said amusedly. She was delightful in the mornings.

“We should discuss that,” she said as she scrubbed her eyes with her palms. “But after your medical check, and the tactical meeting.”

"As you wish," he replied.

Her eyes focused on him before veering left to chase a thought. She turned to Bull. Solas waited for clarification with a suppressed chuckle. Still, he did not rush her.

“We fell asleep while sifting through Ben-Hassrath reports,” she finally said as she began checking the bandages on his chest. She stopped as his fingers wrapped around her wrist. She quirked a brow at him.

“Dhea, I am well,” he said warmly.

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you,” she said with a little scowl. It was more adorable than it had any right to be. He sighed and brushed some wayward curls from her forehead. She smacked his hand. “Stay still,” she groused. He smirked at her and waited patiently. They were serenaded by gulls in the harbor and Bull’s snoring as she continued her ministrations.

“You’re cleared to walk around. We’ll brief you on what you’ve missed since blowing up. We have a lead on Vernier’s location, and we’re to strike fast before he evades us again.” She turned back to Bull. “How are your reflexes?” she asked Solas.

He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“In case Bull lunges,” she said as if it were obvious. She positioned herself away from his horns and hoisted a hand above his cheek. Solas moved as far away as he could before she slapped his cheeks. It was gentle, only garnering another snore from him. She gave Solas a warning glance before rearing back and smacking Bull in the face.

“Kumquat!” Bull roared as he swung a fist in the air. Dhea lithely dodged it and threw herself over his arm as he thrashed awake as some Kraken of grogginess. He stilled as he saw her. “Morning, Boss,” he said simply and got to his feet.

“Meeting’s in five,” she said to them both and headed for the door.

“Glad to see you among the living, Solas!” He bellowed as he helped him out of bed.

“Thank you for your help,” Solas said, glancing at Bull’s cheek. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah? Why do you ask?”

Solas shook his head and chuckled as they exited.


	19. Wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shitstorm at sea.

Lavellan: Wrecked.

They were a few hours away from their destination: Vernier’s stronghold on the northern coast. The Ben-Hassrath were already en route. Everyone had cabin fever, and she had emotions to unpack. She’d rather fight someone instead, however. Especially the handsome elf that helped them obliterate their enemies. She was glad Fenris accepted the duel. Everyone needed a distraction from the drama. Most of the crew gathered to watch. Some were chanting their names and heckling, but they sounded very far away.

They circled each other on the deck with predatory smiles. Something feral lurked in their stances. They were the same, she knew. Violence was their vice for purging inner demons.

Fenris lunged.

She deflected.

She spun in the air before thrusting, adding momentum to her might.

He disengaged, punting his pommel into her unguarded shoulder.

She recoiled and thrusted at his breastplate. It dented.

They both smiled through the pain and continued their dance of blades.

The circled each other once more, smirking under the sweat.

They both began to glow.

Rivulets of blood mingled with his wraith form in a blur of maroon violence.

Blue mana pulsed against her assault.

She never relented.

They clashed until both combatants panted.

The crowd jeered and chanted. Dhea focused on her opponent, ignoring the crowd’s noise. Bells tolled, but they sounded far away and Fenris had an opening she couldn’t ignore.

Then cannon fire surrounded them. They blanched at each other and downed a health potion before bursting into action.

“To arms!” The ship captain bellowed.

“Venatori!” came from the bird’s nest.

A ship came into view on the horizon. It was twice the size as _the Crucible_ with at least a dozen mages and cannons on board. The sails were black.

Fireballs and arcs of lightning shot into the air. Silence echoed before a boom catapulted across the waves and chaos reigned upon their ship. Their deck erupted in flame. A lightning bolt struck their main mast. Shrapnel of wood shattered the air and plumes of smoke suffocated them.

“Can you counter them with magic?” Dhea yelled at the mages.

“They aren’t in range!” Dorian yelled.

“Not with only two mages!” Solas replied.

They both shielded _the Crucible_ from the oncoming assault as much as they could. Victory against a dozen mages in an enclosed space was achievable. Difficult, but doable. A surprise attack at sea was going to be a slaughter.

“Prepare escape maneuvers!” Dhea ordered. Their crew rescued the sails and the mages propelled the oars. Varric and the warriors prepared the three life boats. _The Crucible_ limped away from Vernier’s barrage. The shore emerged. Hope bloomed. Then the ship lurched. A harpoon of ice ruptured their hull. Water bled through its gaping wound at a devastating pace. Everyone scuttled onto the life boats. Then the sky was engulfed in a crimson blaze. Dorian hurtled his boat away with a blast of magic. Solas and Dhea were still unhooking the ropes to their boat. She threw Cole onto Bull’s boat and ordered them to go. The light grew nearer. The rope was caught. She was going to die. She looked to Solas, then the sky and prepared herself. Relief overtook her as she faced her demise.

She felt something warm and solid ricochet into her.

Everything faded and the air was too thin.

A crimson light bled through her eyelids. A warm, solid _something_ caged her into the sand. A boom erupted and the air froze.

One second.

Two seconds passed.

A gale of sulfuric wind washed over the horizon. The air burned. Before the flames reached her she was falling again but it wasn’t down. She hurtled through the air. The speed of it stung her skin and deflated her lungs.

Then she stopped.

The air thickened around her and she slammed into the sand. Her body was too heavy. She swallowed air but it wasn’t enough. Slender hands gripped her face and her eyes flashed open.

Solas held her and nothing made sense. She should be dead. Everyone should be dead and the air was on fire and the rope was stuck.

Nothing made sense.

Her ears rung from the blast and her eyes watered from the smoke and the shock and she should be dead. 

He held her and her breath slowed. Time was still again and she could move. She wrapped an arm around him and tried saying his name but her ears were screaming and her throat was cracked.

He released her. She noticed he was bleeding and wiped it away. He grabbed her hand and looked at her with desperation but she had to stop the bleeding. Didn’t he know he was bleeding? His tears stopped and he relented. He touched his necklace and blue light engulfed them. It was warm.

She could hear again.

“ea? Dhea? Dhea, abelas, lethallan. Please!” He held her again.

“Sorry for what? You’re bleeding.” She said. Something sticky clung to her armor and matted her hair. She was cold and nothing makes sense. He breathed and crushed her in a hug. It stung. She didn’t know why. He broke off into a stream of elven, but he spoke too quickly with his strange dialect and she could only understand ‘act quickly, safe, and lost.’ She cupped his face and stared at him until he calmed.

“Solas, where are the others?”

“I don’t know,” he said and held her hand to his cheek. His look made her heart ache and her eyes sting, but she didn’t know why. Her eyes were heavy all of a sudden. They drooped. She was too cold.

Solas held her again and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stream of consciousness should convey the chaos she felt, and the choppy sentences the frantic pace of everything. I'm sorry if it was hard to read. I went cross-eyed a bit when writing it. 
> 
> This series is about halfway through. It's really fun to write! Thanks to anyone who has stuck with it so far!


	20. Dashboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, we could’ve been  
> Should’ve been worse than you would ever know” -Modest Mouse.

Dorian: Dashboard

_Vishante Kaffas!_ _I’m too pretty to die! Oh, the humanity!_

Dorian flailed in the water and crashed into something hard standing upright. Something plucked him from the water by the collar. He coughed up all the drudgery he swallowed and blinked up at Iron Bull, bursting into a sob at the sight of the blasted Qunari giant.

Bull patted Dorian’s back, cradling him like a soggy baby against his chest. He sobbed into the giant’s neck, smothering him in tears and Tevene prayers. Thank the _Maker_ they didn’t die. This was all too dramatic, even for them. Maker forbid, he was going to get gray hairs over this Inquisition business.

After a few eternal minutes, Dorian calmed. He surveyed the devastation between sniffles. Pieces of _the Crucible_ floated along the shore, or drifted along the tide.

“If this is divine comedy, the Maker’s an asshole,” Varric’s gravelly drawl sounded behind them. “The test? I’m assuming we failed. Gloriously. Shall I break into song about how the dawn will come, or Andraste’s bosom?”

“Varric, I will drown myself if you sing,” Fenris lamented.

"I don't know, I'd say us making it out alive counts as a win," Bull said. 

"Well, diving underwater as the _air started burning_ was common sense," Varric returned as he treaded water. 

"Common sense had to prevail sometime. The Maker's timing leaves something to be desired, however," Dorian tacked on as he surveyed the wreckage. The water was right below Bull's shoulders, and they were a dozen meters from shore. Dorian saw Cole huddled among the sparse crew on the beach. He scanned along the shoreline for any sign of Dhea or Solas, but only found little fires at sea and ashes falling in the air. He glanced at the dying inferno ahead of them. The gaatlok continued to burn at sea. Dorian shivered at the sight. 

Bull pulled his head back gently and searched Dorian’s face.

“You alright, kadan?”

Dorian nodded meekly. “You think Dhea…” Dorian turned back towards the fire.

“No. Boss wouldn’t be taken out like that. She and Solas escaped; I know it. They’ll take care of each other until we find them,” Bull said as he waded toward the beach. Dorian snuggled into his chest and watched Fenris help Varric onto a piece of driftwood with mild amusement. He chuckled as he saw the elf drag the dwarf towards the beach by the hand like some forlorn buoy. Fenris made grumpiness an art form, even while doing adorable things. No wonder Hawke jumped all over that, Dorian thought idly as they joined the others. Bull set Dorian on a fallen tree and kissed his cheek before joining Cole.

“Alright, we’ll start a fire and make a temporary shelter for the night. In the morning we’ll head toward the rendezvous point. Lavellan should be heading towards it, and the Ben Hassrath should already be there waiting for Vernier. No one panic. If you’re wounded, Cole will take care of you. Only serious injuries are to be taken to Dorian, as his mana is still recovering. Now, about watch rotations…” Bull continued organizing the damp stragglers of _the Crucible_. Dorian sat back and enjoyed his amatus being authoritative. It always made him all tingly in the _best_ ways. He’d have to show his appreciation later that night… All this stress has to be relieved. It was his moral imperative to be of service, after all.

A moist whelp of a boy ambled towards him. He clutched his hand to his chest and was bleeding from the head. Dorian sighed and prepared a healing spell. It was going to be a long night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris dragging Varric along on a piece of driftwood is true friendship. Rose and that door can suck it.


End file.
